Observed
by la chiede il tuo cor
Summary: My first Les Mis fic. Why is Enjolras always a pianist in fanfiction? Why never a violinist?
1. Default Chapter

AN: This is my first Les Miserables fic. I am a violinist with serious ego problems, and after seeing so many Enjolras-the-pianist fics, I decided to take the matter into my own hands. Enjoy!

One might think that he was made of stone. He was entirely still on the stage of the university's empty auditorium, the instrument clasped firmly but gently in his hands. Of course, that one might think that he was made of stone could have another meaning, but you'd have to know him to understand the second.

Slowly, he began to shift his position, until the instrument was tucked neatly under his chin. One might have wondered when the time to perfect this craft had been available to him; this was clearly a secret, and obviously not a priority. Yet, as the first d minor chord echoed through the reverberant hall and shapes began to form, one was able to overlook what small errors there were in the execution of the piece- an intonation slip here, small inconsistencies in tone- the wonder of the whole was too overwhelming to observe such trivial matters.

He did not know that he was being watched. All he knew was the sounds emanating from the pieces of wood. The minutes flew, and he put the instrument down at the closing of the piece, his breath a little more forced than what would be usual, and his eyes slightly brighter. He left the stage through the wings, leaving the half-dimmed lights of the stage to guide his observer.

Grantaire approached the stage slowly- almost reverently. When the stage was inches from his nose- eye level to him, almost, he let out a breath that he did not know he had been holding.

"He is a God, yet he plays the music of the Lord."

With that, he turned and exited through the auditorium, the ending of Bach's d minor Chaconne still ringing in his ears.


	2. 2

AN: I'd meant for this to be a one-shot, but I Had to write this chapter because it mirrors something that's happening to me now, except that I didn't give Enjolras tendonitis, and Enjolras has violinistic skills (in my mind) that I will never have, as I just gave (sigh) my last performance, due to tendonitis and my philosophical questions, ie, what am I doing for the world with music.  However.  This last performance of mine is going to be nationally broadcast on NPR, the week of 11-29.  The show is called "From The Top".  So if anybody wants to hear my historic (hehe) last performance that ended a promising career...  (sigh)  I'm pretty depressed.

Oh, well.  On with the fic.

"Grantaire told me something interesting today," Courfeyrac said, a smirk evident about his lips. He waited for the taller blond to respond.

To no avail.

"Don't you want to know what he said?"

"Not particularly."

Courfeyrac sighed theatrically and leaned forward on his elbows, almost leaning all the way across the table. "Enjolras, when you think yourself to be alone... Sometimes you need to reconsider."

This seemed to pique the blond's interest. "Oh?"

"He said you played beautifully."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes and unconsciously traced the fingertips of his left hand with his thumb. Once down, index finger to pinky, and then back up. Then the hand relaxed.

"I'm surprised that he would know the difference."

Courfeyrac heaved another over-exaggerated sigh. "You never said anything. Jehan will _kill_ you when he finds out that there was another..." Here, he raised his eyebrows mockingly. "..._artist_ in Les Amis all this time with him not knowing."

"Courfeyrac, _where_ are you going with this?"

"He will, you know. You should lock your door at night."

"I do. I am waiting for you to make a point, Courfeyrac. If there is none, kindly let me be." He indicated a book next to his right elbow. "I was, after all, otherwise occupied prior to your... Arrival."

If you can call creating a hole in the wall from force of an over-exuberantly opened door an _arrival_.

"My point is..." Another theatrical sigh. "If you're as wonderful as Grantaire said- and he was uncharacteristically serious when we spoke- why on Earth are you not in the Arts department with Jehan or at the Conservatory?" A smirk graced Courfeyrac's lips, but it did not reach his eyes. His eyes contained genuine curiosity.

Enjolras, who was on the point of re-opening his textbook, noticed the look and sighed, letting the cover of the book fall closed with a thud. "If I answer your questions, will you leave me be?"

"Certainly. If, that is, you answer to my satisfaction."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, but did not treat Courfeyrac to his carefully honed glare, before sighing- barely audibly- but sighing, nonetheless. "I auditioned for both."

"Were you not accepted?"

"I was," Enjolras said with a frown. "I was the first accepted by both institutions." He shrugged, his modesty kicking in. "I had wonderful training in my youth."

Courfeyrac waved a hand. "But you're studying at the Law school." He paused. "I suppose that musical studies take many hours of practice... Life must be better as a Law student..."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow disdainfully. "I do not fear toil, Courfeyrac. This you know." The statement came out harshly, even by Enjolras's standards. He paused, and continued with his composure restored. "Academically speaking, music will always be my first love. It is the only thing that I truly enjoy studying. However. There is something else that I love more; the people. The Republic. Freedom." He paused for a moment, and then a smile, chilling in its rarity, graced his face. "Patria." He sighed, his eyes oddly downcast, before continuing. "I cannot put my personal happiness before the good of the whole. Through studies of the law and of politics, perhaps I can better understand how to create equality- how to instill justice in this world that has been corrupted."

"Enjolras..."

The blond stood, his eyes burning with an unusual emotion. "I have work to attend to." He lifted the book from the table and exited the room.


End file.
